Unspeakable
by jornunvosk
Summary: A retired researcher from the Department of Mysteries gathers a team of bounty hunters to carry out a mission for Voldemort to find a runaway wandmaker. Occurs during the events of Half-Blood Prince. Mostly original characters. Please leave commentary. First fanfic.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the affiliated works. I am not J.K Rowling. **

_In a small hamlet, in rural Ireland._

I fought to keep my hands steady, but they kept betraying me with their wiggling, making the tip of my scalpel shake with uncertainty. I took a deep breath as I could feel my master's waiting eyes lingering on my hands, I could almost hear his jaw tightening in response to my improper form. I repositioned and loosening my grip slightly, made a quick, straight cut through the dragon heartstring resting in the clamp.

My master, Mr Ezekiel Byrne, picked up the severed end and examined the cut. I took a step back to give him room. A tall man, standing at 6 foot 3 inches, Master Byrne always had to stoop down to see my work, giving him the image of a wizened, hunched back man over my worktable.

He stood straight and turned, the mouth in a small smile. "A good clean cut. I can use this for the wand I'm making now. Nice work, Ellie."

I bobbed my head in thanks. He picked up my sample and transferred it across the room to his table, where stacks of unshaped branches cluttered the majority of the space. "Pretty soon, you'll be able to start crafting your own wands."

"Careful now, two compliments in one day? You're going to fuel my ambitions too high." I joked.

"I suppose now, I ought to sleep with an eye open. Warn people that a mousy little girl is coming for my head and my shop?"

"Well, you did teach me to be rather good with a knife."

"When it isn't shaking around as if it were in the middle of an earthquake."

I made a small smile, allowing him his temporary victory, then I asked. "So when will I start wand-crafting?"

He answered with a clatter of sickels and knuts on my worktable. "Perhaps when you're back with the groceries."

I took the coins and walked out to get to the store. My name is Ellie Garrott, an apprentice to Ezekiel Byrne, a wandmaker. We live in a small rural wizarding village called Rowena's Glen. The work is good, if slow, we mostly handle wand repairs since most don't need new wands in the country.

I hadn't even made it half way down the street before I saw a dark plume of smoke overhead. My eyes followed the trail as it landed, in front of Master Byrne's shop.

_In the suburb of Babberton, England_

My Detection Charm went off, clients had to be coming up the stairs. I made quick sweeps with my wand, sending the furniture to where it ought to be. I threw the takeout and juice bottles into the trash where they belonged and added a few sprays of Mr Mulpepper's Air-Borne Aroma. Still looked like I hadn't swept in a while.

I took a seat at the dinner table, picking up a hefty spell tome to look busy with, and waited for my clients to get to my apartment. My patience was greeted by a curt knock.

"Open." I stated in a bored tone. Better to keep an air of mystery.

The door creaked open and I glanced up to find…Rookewood.

"Rashid." Rookewood greeted. "I see the retired life has been treating you well." He looked around my modest apartment with obvious disgust. I grant him, it was a small place. There was one of everything: bathroom, bedroom, closet, bookshelf and the living room and kitchen were combined. There was no sign of anyone else behind him.

"I'm not retired, Rookewood. Just quit the old job."

He nodded and stepped through the doorway rather than stand there awkwardly and tried his hand at small talk. "Office has been quieter without you around."

Unlikely, I always kept to myself back at the Department of Mysteries. My research was always seen as fascinating but quirky. It wasn't something many wizards had the time, expertise, or interest to read up on. Still, I'll play his game. "How's your work been? Heard you were last working in the Prophecy Hall, caused a bit of an incident there last year."

Rookewood gave me a sour look, this was not a pleasant subject. A quiet, high voice cut through our silence, male, not someone I knew. "If I would intrude."

Rookewood stood aside from the door, lowering his head in a prepared bow to make way for the last person I expected or wanted to come into my apartment. The man walked in dressed in a black hoodless robe, no shoes, bald, bone-white skin, snake-like features, elongated fingers. Voldemort.

Voldemort stepped in, his red eyes never breaking contact with my own, his hand raised lazily and the door swung closed behind him. A quiet moment passed as all three of us waited for the next person to speak. Another. Another.

I regained my thoughts and managed to get my tongue working again. "My lord, a most unexpected visit. Please." I got up and offered him my chair, if there was one thing I wasn't going to do today it was die because of sub-par manners.

Voldemort made a small smile and accepted. "I think we ought to all sit." He suggested. Rookewood and I sat close together on the other side of the circular table.

Another quiet moment. "Could I offer you something to drink, my lord?" Does he drink? Does he eat? Silly questions, he was human, of course he had to drink and eat. I assumed.

Voldemort shook his head and motioned to Rookewood to speak. "The Dark Lord wished to employ you to perform a mission in Eastern Europe."

"Um, of course. What manner of work did you have planned, sir?"

"Rookewood tells me that you were revered in the Department of Mysteries."

I made a wry smile. "High praise, my lord. 'Revered' seems a bit exaggerated. But I was known for my abilities." Damn Rookewood, what expectations did you put in his head?

"Rookewood has stated that you own an exceptional level of skill with magic and a keen mind for logical analysis. Skills I will require." His eyes bored into mine. "So, a test. What are we here for?"

What? He wanted me to deduce an entire mission from their presence? Still, there was no saying no to Voldemort. They had leave more clues then they thought of. I forced my brain to start reasoning. What were the facts? What were the implications behind their presence? Why was Voldemort here and not just Rookewood? Why me? After about a minute of quiet, I spoke up.

"This is of the highest importance to you." I thought out loud. "Otherwise, why come here yourself? I'm sure Rookewood can relay a message." Voldemort made a small chuckle at that and Rookewood copied uncomfortably. I continued, "You have plenty of Death Eaters, several in your inner circle have to be at the same level of skill as I am. So whatever this job is, magic is not the primary component. You need someone with a different skill set." He didn't stop me. "Finally, if there is something so important that it requires you yourself to come here to see it done, but a loyal follower can't do it, then it has to be a job that requires anonymity. A job that requires someone who has no connection with you prior, but you can trusted to perform. This job is a stealth mission."

Quiet. "Well done." Voldemort complimented. "You are correct on all counts." Rookewood took this as a cue. A small photograph along with a dossier were pushed in front of me. "Now tell us. What do you know of a wandmaker named Gregorovich?"


End file.
